Why Do You Cry When You are Sleeping?
by Wilted Words
Summary: When the lights goes out, the dakness takes over my unconscious. Very light slash, John/Sherlock.


**A/N: Just fluff and slash (if you squint, like I do). **

**Disclaimer: Don't own these characters.**

**Why Do You Cry When You are Sleeping?**

I wasn't hearing things, I am absolutely sure I heard it. I pause on my way up to my room and turn to regard John's bedroom door. I walk over and press my right ear against the ruff grain of the wood, and wait. Silence. I step back staring down the door, and give a sniff of irritation; obviously going on a week without any sleep does weird things to your hearing. I turn my back and trudge up the last remaining steps to my bedroom, closing the door tightly.

I walk over to my unmade bed and lay down on the soft mattress; sleep has never been something to come easily to me. I know I should change out of my clothes, they will surely be wrinkled by morning (well later morning, considering it's already well past midnight) but I can't seem to find the logic to care. I just bring my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling, reviewing our last case; definitely a tricky one, dealing with a deranged Cabbie, whose own dance with death, inevitably had to involve innocent bystanders, just looking for a ride; a right bastard he was.

My room is completely dark, with only a sliver of light drifting in from between the window's shutters. I see the light slowly dancing across the ceiling; it's like watching a languid ripple move across water. I begin to feel my eyelids start to sag, till blinking becomes difficult and sluggish, I must be close to sleep. I feel the light haziness of semi-consciousness when I hear a terrifying scream. My eyes immediately snap open, heart rate jumping slightly, till it comes back to a normal resting rate. I slowly disengage myself from my bed and carefully open my door to peer out into the darkened flat. I make my way down the few steps, careful not to step on the loose floorboards (just in case), till I'm outside John's bedroom, again.

I lift my hand to his doorknob, only centimeters from the harsh metal. I know John likes his privacy, but I doubt he would like it if he woke up Mrs. Hudson, and _she_ came running up the stairs to his room, rather than myself. I steady my breath, I have no idea why I'm so nervous, it's _just_ John; but maybe that's the reason why I am so nervous, because it is John. I take hold of the knob and slowly turn, feeling the door start to peel away from the frame. The door whines slightly in protest, and I immediately stop, afraid of scaring John awake. Silence regains again over the room, and I gradually inch the door open, till I can slip through the crack. I find that navigating John's room in the dark is quite challenging; since the layout is unknown to me. I do thank John that his military life style still remains, as the room is sparsely decorated and without clutter.

I loom over his sleeping form and notice the gleam of sweat over his brow, dripping down his face, the tension around his eyes, the grimace painting his lips, and the tangle of sheets that have been kicked down to entrap his bare feet. I see his body shuddering, the whimpers emitting from his mouth; I should wake him up, but how? I keep staring at his sleeping form, trying to will him awake; I see him squirm under my gaze. His head tosses and turns from side to side, when another unholy scream is wrenched from his mouth, making me cringe at the sound.

His eyes snap open, and he sits up with a speed I didn't know he possessed; it takes me a minute to see a barrel of a gun pointed up at my face. I put my arms up in the universal sign of surrender; obviously John is still unaware of his surroundings. His hand is steady and his gaze is ready to kill, still disorientated from his nightmare. He blinks his eyes and clarity has finally seemed to be restored to his sleep clouded brain.

"Sherlock, is that you?" He lowers the gun beside his pillow and gingerly rubs the sleep from his eyes. I lower my arms back down to my side. I have no idea what to say or do, I find that I have walked into this situation without a decisive plan; which is extremely unlike me, and highly illogical.

"You were…screaming," I look down at him and see the embarrassment reflected in his face, even through the darkness permeating the room. He shifts his body up the bed slightly, in a more reclined position clasping his hands together in front of his chest, his fingers moving melodically against each other; if he was a man more prone to fidgeting, I would have to call his small jerky movements so, but he seems to have suppressed that urge (but just barely).

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't- I didn't realize that I was that loud. I'm just not use to living with someone else. I'll try- I'll try to be quiet." His eyes seem to flicker everywhere but at me, obviously severely uncomfortable with this conversation. I just nod, when an idea strikes me.

I remembered reading an article about how chimpanzees comforted their young by cuddling them against their chest, the embrace made them feel more secure and contented; chimpanzees and humans are said to be only different, genetically wise, by about two percent. So, the same mode of comfort could be applied similarly between the two species, right? Well, the room for error seems marginal at best, John may be a little put off because it is uncommon for two grown men to comfort one another in such a way, without being related, but I'm sure my theory will prove positive. I stride back over to sit on the edge of John's mattress; he looks up at me in disbelief, I give him, what I hope is a reassuring smile.

He starts the twitching of his hands again, "Sherlock what- what are you- you doing?" He stutters slightly, indicating a slight discomfort, no worries, when I employ my theory I will hopefully quell that anxiety. So I make a move to lie down next to him, bringing him down along with me, so that his back is resting against my chest. I can feel his muscles tense and his breathing become shallow, I just clutch him tighter to me.

My theory was meant to be a one-sided affair, helping John be able to rest comfortably, but I find that the presence of his body against mine is…exquisite. I slowly feel John relax alongside me, his breathing evening out to a normal rhythm; I bring my lips to the back of his neck, right below his hair, and press a kiss there. I really wouldn't say it was a full kiss, a full connection of skin, but rather a feathering of my lips against his skin. John instantly stiffens again, maybe a slight miscalculation on my part; I honestly had no idea why I decided that nuzzling my friend's neck was a good idea, but we are all subject to error.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" He begins to turn in my arms, but I stop his movement. I nuzzle my face against the back of his neck, and just breathe in his soothing sent; he smells like pine, winter air, and home, most importantly, he smells like _home_.

"Shhhh, go to sleep John," I implore of him, "I'm here if you have another nightmare, I can wake you up when one starts to come on. I'll keep you safe John, I promise." John's still tense beside me, but I gradually begin to feel him relax, letting out a deep breath, that tickles my arms. John just pushes back against me and snuggles down into the mattress, and begins to drift off to sleep, and I can't help the sense of ease that washes over at me, knowing that John will be safe and rest easy, for once. I believe that our sleeping arrangements should be remedied, just so I can make sure John doesn't keep having these reoccurring nightmares; in no way is my decision influenced by the feel of john's body alongside mine, not one bit of influence what so ever.

John then turns in my arms, so that we are face to face, nearly a breath away, I'm startled a little by this action, thinking he was on his way to unconsciousness. He looks into my eyes, and all I can do is stare back, transfixed by his unguarded gaze.

"Thank you Sherlock," John then tucks his head against my chest and falls into a restful slumber, with no more nightmares coming to _my_ John in the night.


End file.
